Tea Time
by The Hatter
Summary: A tale of the Mad Hatter, at the peak of his madness, his plot to destroy the Bat... and make Gotham his personal Wonderland! Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

The sky is dark, and clouds are looming overhead, ready to burst. Lightning flashes through the sky, and a large, Victorian structure perched on the edge of a cliff sits ominously, seeming to absorb the bolts of lightning. This is Arkham Asylum, home of Gotham's criminally insane. A blue van makes its way slowly towards the asylum gates, puffs of smoke rising into the air. A guard opens the gates, and the van continues on its way, towards the depths of madness itself...

A face appears, looking through the bars of a small window on one side of the structure. It is obscured by shadow, and a voice drifts through the bars.

"Alright, it's time for your meds. You know the drill."

The face disappears from the window, and in the poor lighting of the small, dank cell, a slight frown is visible.

"If only you knew Time as well as I do..."

The guard shakes his head, reaching for the cell door.

"Yeah, whatever. Don't give a hard time, or you know what'll happen."

The guard unlocks the door, and ushers a white-clad nurse in. The resident's frown deepens, and he takes a watch out of his shirt pocket, staring at it. The guard and the nurse enter, the nurse trembling noticably.

"Don't worry, miss. This one won't be giving any trouble", the guard intones, reaching for the inmate's arm.

Suddenly, the small, odd-looking man looks up at the guard, eyes wide open in a vacant stare. Now the guard can see the pocketwatch, which had been concealed in the shadows.

"Hey, what's that? You aren't supposed to-"

The guard stops suddenly, the razor sharp chain of the watch wrapped around his throat. He falls to the ground, throat impossibly mutilated. The nurse screams, and runs for the cell door. The inmate, having retrieved the watch, grabs her by the collar and smashes her soundly against the head with the large antique. She drops like a stone, unconscious. The inmate's frown disappears, and his eyes focus on the nurse.

"I told you blood wouldn't suit the works," he says passively.

Donning the guard's garb over his jail clothes, and putting on the hat, 3 sizes too big for him, he strides into the hall. He walks towards the gate at the end of the hall, amongst yells and screams from his fellow inmates. Taking the guard's key ring, he fumbles with it until he finds the key to the gate. Opening it, he climbs down a narrow, cold stairway, spiraling downwards until he reaches his destination. Walking towards the main doors, immediately undistinguishable in his prison guard outfit, he tips his hat to the receptionist.

"Cheerio madam," he calls out to her.

She looks up and nods to him, a smile on her face. The Mad Hatter walks out the front door, past the guards and on to freedom...

A small, dark apartment, virtually barren except for a large, blue easy chair and a small tv set on a broad oak desk in front of it. It is set on the news channel, and a pretty, brunette newswoman is talking.

"This just in. The Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum. This madman is not to be approached under any circumstance. If you see him please attempt to contact the police. He is armed and extremely dangerous."

The newswoman is handed a paper. She looks it over. "It seems that Jervis Tetch, aka the Mad Hatter, has also escaped. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. If you see him, contact authorities immediate-" the television set fizzes and goes blank.

Hatter lunges forward in his large chair, slamming his fists onto the desk.

"Pah! Confound that miserable clown, he steals all my glory! So he's extremely dangerous, and I'm just dangerous?"

He grins evilly, snapping his head around and staring out a nearby window, into the sky.

"Well, we'll see about that. I'll sweep over Gotham, and kill the Bat!"

Pondering, he looks at the blank television set thoughtfully.

"How to win Gotham's love? I'll need some things..."


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is setting in the sky, a dully blazing orange orb amongst the many dark clouds.

"It's always dark in Gotham," muses the Hatter to himself, exiting the small 3 story apartment building.

Dressed in a green coat and pants, white dress shirt with upturned collar, green top hat, and oversized red bowtie, he strolls down the dirty, desecrated sidewalk, looking perfectly out of place in this bland, colorless neighborhood.

A yellow taxi soon drives up, pulling up next to him. The driver, a balding, pale skinned fellow, rolls down his window slightly.

"Mr... 'Hat'?" he calls out uncertainly.

The Hatter grins, and reaches for the back door.

"Yes, my dear fellow. I am Mr. Hat."

Getting in, he holds his top hat on his head to avoid it being knocked off.

Holding up a white gloved hand, he calls out, "To the docks. And please, do hurry. Time is a-waiting." Chuckling to himself, he savors the startled reaction of the driver.

"Err, yeah. Gotham docks." The man throws the car into gear, pulling out into the street.

Arriving at the docks after a 2 hour drive through very heavy traffic, the car pulls over beside a pier. The driver turns to the Hatter.

"That'll be 50 dollars and 35 cents."

Sullenly, the Hatter replies, "I haven't got any money, you bonehead. Did you have to take every longcut and find every traffic jam in the city?" 

He reaches into his coat pocket, suddenly back in high spirits.

"However, coincidentally, my good man, do you play cards?"

The driver scowls. "Look buddy, you'd better pay up, and fast. I've dealt with punks like you before!"

The Hatter, pulling out what appears to be a pack of cards, sneers.

"My, what manners. And to think I was just going to deal you one card. Looks like you get the whole pack!"

Pulling the cards out of the pack, he grabs the driver's head and thrusts them into his neck. The stiff, razor sharp cards slice his neck to ribbons, and his life is gone before he even blinks.

The Hatter scowls and places the now bloody cards back in the pack and in his pocket. 

"What a mess. You're going to have to clean this up, you know that?"

Grabbing the dead driver's head, he gives it a hard yank, completely severing it. Putting the head on the seat next to him, he grins at it and shakes his finger, as though lecturing it.

"Well, it's your mess! I haven't a cut on me."

The door opens, and he climbs out of the car, stretching. It is now night, and the moon is looming large and round. No stars can be seen, for this is Gotham. The smog and smoke from all the factories and cars pollutes the air, constricting the night sky. 

The Hatter walks down the walkway, staring intently into the night. He stops in front of a small aluminum building placed somewhat haphazardly by the dock, a dim light on inside.

Looking at a small slip of paper, the Hatter mumbles to himself.

"This is the place..."

He raps on the door, and an enormous black haired man in a pinstriped suit opens it a crack. He takes a look at the Hatter and turns his head toward an unseen point in the building.

"Hey boss, I think this is the guy we been waiting for."

A pause, and he looks at the Hatter. 

"Boss says you kin come in."

The Hatter raises his eyebrows, looking amused.

"Why you haven't even asked me who I am yet! Were I your boss, I would certainly let you go."

The large man frowns, then says,

"Oh yeah! Who are you?"

The Hatter stands up as far on his tiptoes as he can, looking up into the man's face.

"Why I am the Mad Hatter, my dear boy. Now let me in."

The man pulls open the door, and Hatter walks by, into a very dimly lit room. There is a small mahogany desk in the middle, with a small lamp on it, the only light on in the room. A figure stands in the darkness, holding something.

The Hatter looks around, and clears his throat.

"Well then, lets have it! I haven't all night, you know. If I could, I'd steal it, but the moon would get angry."

The figure steps into the light, and lays a hand on the desk. He is an old, balding man with round glasses. Dressed in a black suit and bowtie, his right arm is holding a dummy dressed in a pinstriped suit and fedora, with a miniature Tommy gun and a scar on it's right cheek.

"Well don't just stand there, dummy! Get the suitcase!"

The dummy seems to say, almost as though it has a life of it's own. The white-haired man trembles nervously.

"Y-yes Mr. Scarface sir!"  
He stammers, and reaching under the desk pulls out a black leather bound suitcase. He lays it on the desk, and looks over at the Hatter. 

"An' you'll ge handing over the cash gefore the sun sets tomorrow?"  
The dummy asks.

"Not to worry, my little wooden friend. You'll get your... cash."

The Hatter walks over to the desk and takes the suitcase.

"Mr. Scarface, shouldn't you give him a warning?"  
the mild mannered man asks.

"Hey shut up, dummy. I'll call the shots around here!"

The dummy seems to point it's miniature gun at the Hatter.  
"If I don't get my money, I'll gut you like a fish. That's a warning, guddy."

The Hatter laughs. "Not to worry, blockhead! I said you'll get your money."

He walks out the door, the marionette screaming obscenities at him.  
"Call me glockhead, will ya? I'll kill you you no go-"

The door slams shut behind him, cutting off the stream of threats.

The Hatter walks with the suitcase towards the still waiting cab, and climbs in the driver's seat, pushing the headless corpse out. He puts his foot on the gas, and slowly drives away.


End file.
